Gravity
by irishfire
Summary: Northern Ireland, 1998. Maeve and her brother (in human form) are terrorists running from the Brits. A blue-eyed spy finds his way into their activities and Maeve is determined to get rid of her 'bodyguard.' Rated for violence and language.
1. Default Chapter

I wrote this one in 1998, I think. It's the only present day (at the time) fic I've ever writen. First and last... who knows? But I never finished it and I don't remember where I was going with it. All I know is that I wrote in waaaaay too much slang. It sounds stupid!

"Get out! Get out of my house!" Maeve screamed.

She was answered with the butt of a gun knocking her down, "Shut up or I'll put so many holes in you, you'll look like your mother."

Her mother, a popular, high ranking Sinn Fein official had been gunned down on her way to work over two years ago, orphaning Maeve and her brother. She wasn't going to take anymore crap from these Brits. None of their raids, their 'peace' walls, their marches, their patrols.

"Arrggh!" she cried out attacking the man. She threw herself on top of him, bringing him to the ground and knocking the gun out of his hand, punching him, she successfully dislocated his jaw. The other men came to see what the commotion was to find Maeve pointing the gun at the fallen man, "I said get out of my house!" Her intentions were clear; if they didn't get out of her house, she'd kill their team member. The remaining two men exchanged glances and opened fire upon Maeve, apparently not caring if the man was killed.

"Shite!" Maeve cursed, running from her house into an alley dodging plastic bullets. She hid behind some trash cans watching the men give up searching for her. They turned back to the house to finish and cover up their work. Maeve peeked out from her hiding spot to watch her house being consumed by flames.

Dermott's not going to like this she thought.

"Great!" Dermott sarcastically exclaimed looking at the pile of rubble which was once their home. Maeve knew this infuriated him to no end and interrupting his important meeting earlier with this news didn't help. She felt guilty adding to his stress. She could have easily discarded those few British soldiers but she underestimated their inhuman ways. They would have given up one of their highest soldiers just to find a clue as to where Dermott was.

Daft she corrected herself. I was being stupid! Should I have expected more? They are Brits after all!

"Ruined!" Dermott's voice brought her back to the current situation as he plucked through the ashes. He pulled out a melted blob of plastic, which was once a gun. "All of them, RUINED!" He hurled it into a pile of other similar looking black blobs.

"We can use the back ups at UCL," Maeve suggested. Urgent Contact Location was their emergency center out in the middle of the country if anything was to go wrong. This diffidently qualified as a crisis. "At least 'til we get AK's smuggled in from Florida," she added.

"Aye," Dermott agreed, "but contact all units. It's postponed until later notice."

"Do you think we've been breached?" she asked.

"It's quite possible." He allowed.  
"One of our own?"

"Most likely."

"They don't know?" A man hidden in the shadows of the room asked.

"Not a clue," the other man with silky brown hair and crystal blue eyes answered.

"Good. Lay low until it settles down," the thick British accented voice replied.

"Are you alright?" Dermott asked, for the first time noticing she was favouring one leg over the other.

"Aye. It's just a scratch," she shrugged off his concern.

"Lemme see that," he said, his older brotherly instincts kicking in. He lifted the flap of her ripped jeans to reveal a nasty laceration.

A bullet had grazed her, ripping her pants and skin. This had not been the first time she was hit with a bullet and she'd been shot at countless times. Living in downtown Belfast was not easy. It had been less confusing once—Brits fighting Irish, Unionist vs. Nationalist, Protestant against Catholic—now it was one angry, bitter group fighting another, fighting another, fighting another.

"I'm fine!" Maeve complained over his protectiveness.

"This will need stitches." Dermott ignored her stubbornness and examined the blood-leaking wound that stained her jeans red. This didn't make him the least bit queasy. He'd seen numerous wounds in his life. He's seen mangled bodies in gutters, he's seen bombs blow people into the sky like fireworks, he's seen beatings, interrogations, and shootings. He's tried to protect Maeve from such grotesque sights but both of them now accepted them as common occurrences to come across.

"What do you propose, Dermott, huh? We waltz into Queen's hospital so we can get arrested?" She was frustrated that nothing could go right in her life.

"Nae Maeve. I have a friend we can see," he replied nonchalantly walking to his car.


	2. more

"It's a deep laceration. Nothing a little time won't heal." A man with curly brown hair said.

"Thank you my friend." Dermott patted him on the back, slipping him twenty pounds.

"This isn't necessary." He declined graciously, "It was my pleasure helping out an old friend. It was a pleasure meeting you also Maeve." He sighed as his beeper went off. He looked at it, and then moved to the phone to call the number it displayed. "Excuse me."

"Certainly," Dermott replied. He turned to Maeve who was sitting on a chair fiddling with the bandage wrapped around her leg, "See, brother knows best." He was rewarded with a pillow to his face.

"I'm sorry but you'll have to leave now." Jeremiah said joining them again.

"Is something the matter?" Maeve asked, concerned.

"There's an emergency at the hospital. There has been another bombing…"

"Damn it!" Dermott interrupted.

"…a hundred or so injured, several confirmed dead. Take it easy on the leg Maeve. You two be careful." He warned ushering them out of his house.

Jeremiah sped down the street toward the hospital lost in thoughts. How many more bombings were there going to be? How many more people did he have to treat? How many more people had to die before they realized this isn't the way to peace?

"How did this happen?" Dermott demanded.

The blue eyed, brown haired man shrugged. He did know but he'd be damned if he was going to tell Dermott. In fact, he was the informer. Being a spy was a dangerous job, but a good one. He got paid by both sides, friends on both sides, and protected by both sides, although if the situation arises, both sides would drop him without a second thought.

"Maeve, I want you to go into hiding on the north shore." Dermott wasn't about to risk his sister in this. He'd already lost all he had.

"What?" Maeve couldn't believe her brother was bossing her around. "No. I'm not going anywhere."

Dermott knew that tone. She was determined to stay and anything he said would go in one ear and out the other. "Fine!" he said frustrated. "But you'll have a bodyguard."

And Maeve knew that tone. That was a worried, over protective brother who was more stubborn, if that is possible, than her.

"But Dermott…" she whined.

"No buts, Maeve!"

It was worth a try, she thought.

"This man right here," he pointed to the blue-eyed man, "will be following you wherever you go."


	3. last bit of torture

Maeve walked down the street. She hated the feel of eyes constantly on her. She was a beautiful woman buy she never got used to it. One more pair only made her more uncomfortable.

She just wanted to go to the corner store to pick up a few pints of Guinness for her and the boys. A bodyguard is unnecessary. Her brother had gone way too far this time. She turned a sharp corner and maneuvered herself swiftly through a maze of back allies. When she convinced herself that she lost the bodyguard, she redirected her walk toward the store again.

She walked in and got a twelve-pack from the refrigerated case. "Is that all lass?" the cashier asked at his counter. She nodded and gave him the money she owed. The glass window behind him shattered and the man fell on top of the counter dead, a bullet hole in his back.

Maeve fell to the floor and crawled to the rear of the building, pack in hand. More bullets flew through the windows causing glass to rain down on her. She made it to the door in one piece and kicked it open.

A man stood there, gun pointed at her head. She kicked it aside and used her free hand to punch him in the stomach. He doubled over and she raised her knee to his face to knock him unconscious.

"Stop!" Maeve turned around to see the owner of the voice and found 20-25 men standing, all having guns pointed at her.

Two men came forward, each restraining one of her arms. One man took the case from her hand. "You'll be sorry for that!" she told him. She turned back to the men with guns, "All this for me? That's so sweet, but you shouldn't have, really!"

The leader stepped forward, "Not for you, for your brother, Dermott. Where is he?"

Might as well kill two birds with one stone, she thought. "He's right there!" she pointed to her bodyguard who was walking down the street toward the store.

They all turned and started firing at him. He took cover behind a car. While their attention was diverted, Maeve took the arms of the soldiers that were holding her and flipped them over at the same time.

"That's not him! Shoot her!" the leader yelled over the gun fire. The soldiers turned to shoot so Maeve grabbed the fallen man's gun and dove behind a row of shelves and the shooting battle began.

"Dammit girl! How can you be such a pain in the ass!" the 'bodyguard' said to himself. He withdrew his gun and started shooting toward the store where all the soldiers were. He went from car to car, closer to the store, shooting. A car door opened and a man pulled him into the car, grabbing his gun. The captive then pulled another gun from his boot and aimed it at the man.  
"Relax. It's just me."

"Sorry. Just trying not to get killed."

"Don't forget the plan."

"Are you sure it's worth it?"

"Yes. Anything to catch Dermott McConnell. Now go."

"The 'bodyguard' exited the car and carefully snuck up to the store. He fired out the rest of his round killing five of the soldiers. He dove into the isle Maeve was in to dodge the leader's bullets. Maeve turned and shot twice at him, hitting him once in the shoulder. He cried out in pain.

"You again? You're like a bad nightmare. Will you ever go away?"

"Thanks for your concern. I'm fine."

"I didn't ask, now did I, gobshite?"

"Out the back. I'll cover you."

"I don't need no coverin'. Injured and weak first." Maeve gestured with her gun.

After he made a swifty exit, Maeve dove in clear view, sliding and grabbed her case of pints. She made it to the other side of the back door and used it as cover between shooting at the soldiers. Maeve disappeared into another alley and the bodyguard followed.

"You and your Black Stuff. Couldn't you have just bought another case?"

"What can I say? We Irish like our beer. You wouldn't know that though, would you? Because you aren't Irish." Maeve spun around pointing her gun in his face. "Who are you?" She demanded ready to shoot.


End file.
